by Sean Kennedy
“That shit,” I breathed.
Declan butted his head against my shoulder. “I guess that solves that problem.”
I wanted to be angry, but amusement hit me instead. How could I be mad when my arms were full with Declan, and I was where I wanted to be more than anywhere else in the world?
“So this is what our life is,” I mused.
“Pretty good, huh?” Declan asked.
I really couldn’t disagree.
Fourth Quarter
Chapter 25
“WHERE’S Declan?”
Having had the life squeezed out of me, I managed to pull away from Fran and gain my breath enough to say, “He’s in Hobart. It’s a home game week. And it’s good to see you too, Franny.”
“Oh, you know that goes without saying,” she chided me over the sounds of a flight from New Zealand being announced over the speakers.
Roger pushed her aside to have his turn at me. “Hey, mate.”
“Jesus, is that a tan?” I asked in shock.
“The amount of time she made me go for walks in the sun, it’s a good thing I didn’t come back with a melanoma.”
“Who’s ‘she’?” Fran protested. “The cat’s mother?”
Fuck, I had missed them. It was the first Christmas I had ever had without Roger, and though you would have thought I would be distracted having my first Christmas with Declan, my best friend’s absence was a sore spot.
“It’s good to see you guys,” I said sincerely.
“Oh God, he’s getting sentimental,” Fran said, hugging me again.
“We were only gone for ten weeks,” Roger reminded me.
“It was eight weeks too long.”
“You didn’t miss us the first two?” Roger looked hurt.
Fran’s lips brushed against my hairline. “For someone who missed us so much, you were shit at keeping in contact.” She began ushering us down to the baggage carousel.
“I texted you!” I said defensively.
“Text,” Fran muttered dismissively.
“I think I spoke to Dec more than I did you,” Roger said.
“Yeah, well he’s Mr. Perfect isn’t he? You can make him your best friend.”
“Someone’s cranky.”
I sighed, watching the bags start to spill out onto the rubber tracks. “I got jumped by the press in the car park.”
Roger’s eyes widened. “Was there a rumble?”
Fran hid her smile behind her hand.
“Yes, there was a rumble. Luckily this cute blonde girl came out of nowhere and staked them for me.”
“Are they still following you guys around?” Fran asked.
I shrugged. “Sometimes. And sometimes they’re just lucky and catch us out and about. But it’s kind of increasing at the moment now that the preseason has started.”
“But Declan isn’t playing, right?” asked Roger.
“That’s only increasing the interest,” I grumbled. “Everybody’s like ‘when’s he gonna play’, ‘why are they keeping him off the field’, ‘has he not recovered from the operation’, blah blah blah.”
“You were playing his nursemaid.” Fran grinned. “I’m sure he recovered well enough.”
“He was a shit to deal with, though.”
“You must have hated having the competition, then,” Roger laughed.
I whacked him, but missed as he moved off to grab one of their bags.
Fran grabbed my arm and squeezed it affectionately. “So when do we get to see his new apartment?”
They had left before Declan had gotten to move in properly. “He’s already talking about dinner as soon as he next gets up from Hobart.”
“You know me,” Fran said. “Wherever there’s food, I’ll be there.”
“Did someone say food?” Roger reappeared, a bag in his hand. “Only one of them so far.”
“There better be presents in that,” I warned him.
“There might be a snow globe.” Roger shrugged.
“So is Declan really better?” Fran asked. “There’s only so much information one can get via text from you, he was being a bit secretive about it whenever I spoke to him, and I didn’t want to believe anything the nets were saying.”
I grimaced as I remembered how often I’d had to help him change his gross and bloody bandages. Along with mopping his fevered brow and feeding him chicken soup.
“He’s getting there,” I said in a low tone, looking suspiciously at the other disembarked passengers and their greeters around us. “But the real test will be when he gets into a game. Especially because the other players won’t be easy on him.”
“What, because he came out?”
I shrugged. “It’s the game. Could be a factor, but—”
“Go hard, or go home!” Roger said, a bit too enthusiastically, causing everybody around us to stare.
I automatically shrank back against Fran as my paranoia led me to believe that a glimmer of recognition began to register collectively in the group’s eyes. “Yes,” I said. “That.”
“Bloody stupid game,” Fran muttered.
“You just don’t get it,” Roger countered.
“Go look for the bags!” she ordered, and he skulked off. “Honestly.” She turned her attention back to me. “And his family? How are they dealing with everything?”
“This is starting to feel like the start of one of those show starters. Previously, on Simon and Declan….”
“Give me a break. I haven’t seen you for ages. You have to tell me everything. And then later on you’ll have to tell me in greater detail.”
That last few months had flown by in a barely discernible blur. Just after Fran and Roger left and I was feeling lonely, Declan introduced me to the scary reality of his overprotective siblings. They had all been eager to let me know just how much they cared about their brother and how I was a threat to his safety and happiness.
“They threatened to bury me where I would never be found if I did Dec wrong.”
Fran giggled. “Did they speak in country song cliché all the time?”
I smiled. “They’re actually pretty cool. They love him.”
“What’s not to love?”
“Careful,” I growled.
“I’m married!” She laughed. “Not dead.”
“What?” Roger asked suspiciously, dragging another bag behind him.
We just smiled. “Nothing.”
“She’s going on about how hot she thinks Declan is, isn’t she?” Roger demanded. “Sure, she’s allowed to do that kind of thing, but if I look at one girl on an Italian beach then you’re suddenly capable of having an affair.”
“He’s overreacting,” Fran told me apologetically.
“You kicked me in the balls!”
“I kicked you in the shin, you big baby!” Fran scowled. “And the difference is there’s no chance of me getting with Declan.”
“I don’t know,” I drawled, loving to add fuel to this little fire. “I think he has got a little crush on you.”
“Really?” Fran asked, giving Roger a huge sickly sweet smile. Her eyes widened as she noticed one of their bags sailing by. “Be right back!”
Roger sidled up to me. “That’s not really true, is it?”
“What?” I asked innocently.
“Declan having a crush on Fran.”
“Who wouldn’t have a crush on Fran?” I asked rhetorically.
Roger turned to watch his wife hoist a large bag off the carousel with ease. “Yeah.” He smiled. “She’s pretty cool.”
“The coolest,” I agreed.
“That’s it!” Fran cried as she joined us. “Let’s go!”
I was glad to get back out into the open air as we crossed over the bridge that led to the car park. The photographers who had jumped out at me earlier were nowhere to be seen. They had probably spotted far more newsworthy prey within the airport getting off another flight. On the other hand, if Dec had been with us….
“Are Dec’s folks treating yo
u like the son they never had?” Roger asked as we loaded the bags into my car.
“Isn’t it about time I got some stories about your trip?” I tried to deflect.
“It’s not as interesting as this,” Fran said sweetly.
I sighed and unlocked the car. We got in and automatically groaned at the heat.
“Dude, it’s about time you got a grownup car with air conditioning,” Roger grumbled.
“‘Dude’?” I asked.
“Get your sugar daddy to buy you a new car,” Roger pushed.
“Shut up,” I seethed. “I like my car.” And I didn’t want to admit that Declan had offered to buy me a new car, but I refused.
“So, Declan’s parents?” Fran repeated.
I pretended to concentrate on the road as we merged onto the freeway.
“Simon!” Fran whined.
There was no fighting them. Just like it had been hard to fight off Dec’s family when he finally took ownership of his apartment at the Docklands (unfortunately Cate Blanchett was not his neighbour as I had hoped), even more so when he had his operation just before Christmas and was holed up within it. You would have thought he had been left to fend for himself on an ice floe in the Antarctica the number of times they showed up unannounced, despite the fact I had moved myself in there with Maggie in tow during his convalescence.
Christmas had been a strange time, as it was the first where I had a partner I wanted to share the season with properly as a couple; before, if I had had a boyfriend around the festive season, I avoided any possibility of doing the family thing with them. But there was no escape this time round; my family had adopted Declan, in spite of what he may have wanted, and Declan’s family made every effort to include me as well. I found myself in the strange new position of having in-laws and also having to watch my parents put in that position as well. Declan was surprised by the fact this seemed so foreign to me and that I tried to resist it; he was extremely close to his family, although you could question the irony of that fact because he had never told them about his being gay until he was splashed on the front cover of the Herald Sun kissing his boyfriend.
“It’s kind of weird,” I admitted. “It still doesn’t seem real yet, like everybody’s still on their best behaviour. They’re always really nice to me, but I feel like I’m waiting for the real family drama to begin.”
“You always have to be the pessimist,” Fran said. “They probably can see how serious you guys are. After all you went from dancing around each other in the throes of early love to old married couple in only a couple of months.”
“Is that a compliment?” I asked.
“Well, you think we rock,” Roger pointed out. “And we’re an old married couple.”
“Like I said, is that a compliment?”
“If you weren’t driving, I’d hit you.”
“And VicRoads salutes you for responsible motor vehicle management,” I said in all seriousness.
Fran groaned from the back seat. “Is it too late to go back to Italy?”
I ACTUALLY did take it as a compliment, because Declan and I were so comfortable with each other. It was new for both of us, and I think we were being careful in protecting it because we didn’t know a relationship could be that way. It was true it was also because of an us-against-the-world attitude resulting from the continual intrusion of the press into our personal lives, although it was nowhere near the fever pitch it had been when Dec had first come out.
Looking back, I think we were just living in a state of suspended bliss that came to an end when Dec had to start shuttling back and forth between Melbourne and Hobart in order to start preseason training. The honeymoon period was over, what with interest in him ramping up again as the press, the club bosses, and the fans waited to see how his knee worked in anticipation of the season to come. Dec tried to stay out of the limelight as much as possible, but he couldn’t. Even though he wasn’t speaking to the press, they couldn’t stop talking about him.
His coach had decided to make him sit out the preseason, which only intensified the speculation about his eventual return. Whenever I spoke to him on the phone, me at home in Melbourne and him in his apartment in Hobart, he sounded pretty miserable. I flew over a couple of times when I could get away from work, but it really didn’t cheer him up any. He was itching to get back out onto the field.
The first game of the season was an away one for the Devils. They would be playing against Carlton at Etihad, and it was at a press conference leading up to the game that Scott Frasier finally gave the press and the public what they were waiting for: The Return of Declan TylerTM. Sitting beside his coach on the podium, Declan looked as unflappable as he always did. Nobody would have ever guessed how petrified he was.
“They kept me away for too long,” he told me, when I met him at his apartment on the Docklands later in the afternoon.
“We’ve been over this before,” I told him. “They haven’t. The minute you get out onto the grounds, it will be like you’ve never been away.”
“You don’t know that,” he said grumpily. “You have no idea.”
It was true. I didn’t. I mean, I could relate what he was feeling to the way I felt in situations in my own life, but Declan’s would always be different. I would never know what it felt like to be a player; I would only ever have the fan’s perspective of the game.
I didn’t know what it was to be thought of as the team god, its saviour, and also its scapegoat if anything went wrong. Throw into that the whole rigmarole that went with being a celebrity, a role model, and the new poster child for gay rights, I guess the man was entitled to be a little bit emo every now and again. Frig knows he did the same for me a hell of a lot of the time.
I pulled him down onto the couch beside me and tried to hold him. He sat rigidly, like he was passively resisting a cop at an antiglobalisation rally. Eventually he sagged into me, and I held him tighter.
“I want to ask you something,” I said.
“What?” His voice was muffled against my T-shirt.
“Do you mind if I came to the match?”
He sat up and looked at me earnestly. “You would?”
“Of course I would! I wanted to tell you I was coming for ages, but I thought maybe you didn’t want me to.”
“Why wouldn’t I want you to?”
“Why didn’t you ask me?”
He groaned. “I thought we were going to get better at communicating.”
“Okay, so communicate. I’ll tell you why I didn’t, if you go first.”
“Chickenshit.” Declan grinned. “But okay. I want you to come to the game. But I thought maybe with me being such a stressed-out prick lately that it would be the last thing you would want to do. Plus the press attention will be huge. And they’ll probably focus on you as well if you came. I didn’t want to put pressure on you. Your turn.”
“Almost the same,” I replied. “I figured you had enough to deal with without me being there. Especially if the media got involved. I thought all of it would distract you and put you off your game.” I brushed my lips against his hairline. “I want to be there and support you.”
“This is why we should talk,” Dec said, gently rubbing his thumb against my cheek.
“We’re a team. The team of us.”
“You schmaltzy bastard.” He laughed. “I love it. And I love you.”
“Now who’s being schmaltzy?”
We kissed, and it was one of those moments where I felt perfectly assured that even though at times it seemed to be us against the world—the team of us—we would prevail.
“You’re going to need someone to show you the ropes though,” Dec said.
“The ropes?”
“Yeah. Someone who has been through all of this before and knows how to handle being the football wife.”
“You did not just call me a football wife,” I said, punching him in the gut. “Never do it again!”
He grabbed my fist, uncurled it, and fitted his own inside it.
“You know what I mean.”
“So, someone to be my Yoda?”
“Yeah. Or, your Yoda someone should be. And I know who.”
“I’M SO glad I have a fellow freak to hang out with,” Lisa declared, hugging me madly.
“Freak?” I echoed.
She kissed me on the cheek. “Don’t take it personally. But that’s what the WAGs think we are. In fact, you’ve probably taken my crown away.”
The WAGs were the Wives And Girlfriends. Bad acronym I know. And not very gender-inclusive, now that I was around.
“Oh,” I said, and then I asked in surprise, “Why would they think you’re a freak?”
Lisa stared at me, trying to figure out if I was being serious or just merely dumb. “Uh, because I’m the only Asian in a swarm of Anglos? Any time I first introduce myself to one of them, they have trouble hiding the fact they’re surprised I can speak English.”
Lisa sounded more Aussie than even Roger and could drink Abe under the table; I thought it was much more likely the other girls were intimidated by her.
“They’re that cliquey?” I asked.
I must have looked worried, because Lisa immediately began to backtrack. “No, not really. Well, a little bit. They’re scared of difference. But then, so am I. I don’t feel comfortable around—”
“Normal people?”
Lisa laughed. “Normal? They’re hardly normal themselves.”
“Most people would think they were.”
“Let’s just say that we got on the wrong foot with each other. I was already nervous about dealing with them; they made a couple of stupid, but probably well-intentioned comments, and I got pissy.”
“That doesn’t sound like anything I would do at all.”
Lisa had seen me in social situations too many times to be able to treat that as a joke. “Don’t worry. Once they’ve associated you with me, you’ll be a social pariah. They’re probably expecting some guy who can discuss shoes and Sex and the City with them, not someone who wants to discuss the meta-existentialism of David Lynch.”
“Is Sex and the City still popular?”
